


something inside us that longs to be named

by zurau



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8111221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zurau/pseuds/zurau
Summary: Emma is awake, and despite her slow breathing, Regina is too. They’re both waiting for her to leave. Or not leave. She’s done this before, climbed into her bed and slunk out just before the sun is up. She doesn’t want to, never wants to leave and that’s mostly why she does. Any more is pushing her luck. She’ll take the snatched, quiet moments, the unspoken and the uncertain if it means she still gets them; if it means she still can curl around her in the dark and pretend it’s not something they might lose.set nebulously post season 5. very tired ladies in love who need a break.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i’m incapable of writing anything that requires chapters, planning and/or Big Plots™ so this is another disconnected, meandering one shot. one day i’ll sit down and write something has an actual structure and a consistent tone and isn't written on a whim in a couple of hours. spontaneity is the spice of life, clearly.
> 
> also no offence but one of my favourite things is emma's job essentially just being animal control due to the lack of real crime in storybooke. title from dorianne laux's "dark charms".

She slips into the house as quietly as she can. She shakes off her boots and pauses before kicking them neatly together next to the shoe rack, takes her jacket off and eyeballs the kitchen. She can hear soft music and footsteps inside and slinks quietly past, giving a quick shout when she’s already halfway up the stairs. She definitely doesn’t run the rest of the way. She makes it to the Regina’s room, with no footsteps following her, grabs a thick towel from the impeccably neat closet and strips, her muddy clothes landing in an untidy pile and jumps in the shower.

Because she does this now. Does her shift at the Sheriff’s station each day and most days end up at the Mansion one way or another. It happens so often that she has absolutely no qualms taking advantage of the water pressure in Regina’s shower compared to the trickle in her top floor walk-up apartment. No qualms using the bathroom inside Regina’s bedroom because she spent a certain amount of time in it one way or another. She tries not to think too hard about the last time she was here, or the fact she wasn’t alone and didn’t spend very much time actually showering.

It’s a relief to be inside, at least, to have water running over her, to be able to forget about the ache in her muscles and the slight stinging on her back and the fact that she spent most of the day in compromising situations entirely unfit for a government official, even a small town sheriff. 

She starts washing her hair, ignoring the sharp jabs as the shampoo drips down her back. Her eyes are shut and her mind drifting between contemplating what dinner is tonight and who she can pass off today’s paperwork to tomorrow. She hears a creak and pauses in her washing. When nothing happens she carries on. Mulan seems like the safest bet. David will just make an even bigger mess of it than she would and Mulan actually seems invested in making sure they don’t get shut down for improper practice. At this stage, it’s not like Emma really cares about being shut down but Storybrooke isn’t actually humming with job opportunities. It’s sheriffing or waitressing at this point and at least in her current job she can actually take Leroy down when he’s being leery.

She’s so deep in her own thoughts that she shrieks a little bit when she hears a long creak from behind her and spins around, grabbing at the nearest solid thing and brandishing it out in front of her. 

A soft, shocked “Emma…”, is all Regina says, and all at once Emma realises that she's stark naked and waving a bottle of body wash at her son’s other mother (almost girlfriend? best friend? confused semi platonic friend?) through the solid glass of the shower door.

Regina starts to frown, her eyebrows drawing together and her eyes turning dark as she sweeps her eyes up and down Emma’s body. “I brought you some fresh clothes.”, she says, her voice straining to stay neutral as she draws her attention to the folded pile of Emma’s clothes in her arms.

Emma flushes and climbs out of the shower, swiftly wrapping a towel around herself, “I was just going to magic myself some.”

Regina’s arms drop abruptly and Emma sees her jaw clench, the muscles in her cheek tensing.

“But, I mean, thanks. Saves me the trouble.”

She takes the clothes and leaves Regina standing there, glaring at her. Not glaring, as such, because she’s now well versed in different Regina looks and glaring comes in many forms. This is a frustrated glare but there’s a hint of…softness? there which is making Emma’s stomach flip. A little bit. In a totally platonic friendly way. It makes her want to run for the hills really, and she would be if her legs weren’t still burning.

She raises the clothes awkwardly and gestures back towards Regina’s bedroom, “I’m just going to…change.”

She’s not sure if she’s gesturing for Regina to leave or if she’s meant to be going. They stand there for a few seconds until Emma gives up and walks past her through the door, deliberately not trying to brush her, despite the lack of space. She makes it to the other side of the room and drops her towel, shaking the clothes out of the pile and pulling them on. They’re definitely hers, bits and pieces that she must have left at the mansion and they’re freshly laundered, soft and oh my god, ever so slightly warm? like fresh from the tumble dryer warm and she sighs as she pulls them on a little. She forgoes the bra and when she pulls the shirt on, curses her taste in cheap fabric. 

There’s a cough from behind her and she turns. Regina is standing on the other side of the bed, ever so slightly flushed and like, the bathroom is hot when the shower’s running, she gets it but just how long has she been standing there.

Regina seems to compose herself and fixes Emma with a level gaze, “Do you want to explain to me how you got those scratches?”

Emma freezes and starts to cast her eyes wildly around the room, searching for inspiration, an escape, anything to avoid this conversation. She pulls the tank top on, ignoring the pain and says, “It’s nothing, really.”

Regina crosses the room in a few paces and then she’s in front of Emma, her voice sharper, “Emma, it looks like you’ve been mauled.”

Emma slips into the slouchy cardigan and pulls it around herself, her mouth flapping open and closed because jesus christ just give her something.

“I’m…I’m…having an affair?”

Her eyes bug out as soon as she finishes her sentence and Regina’s do too, her arms dropping to her sides, fists clenching. Her nostrils even flare a little bit.

“I’m not going to listen to this garbage.”, she says shortly and starts to walk away

Emma is desperate at this point and lurches forwards, grabs her wrist and brings them back face to face, “Regina, wait!”

She eyes her slowly, not saying anything and Emma doesn’t drop her hand straight away.

When she does, she pulls the cardigan tighter around herself and ducks her face into her chest a little bit, “There was an…incident…with a racoon at work today.”

Regina narrows her eyes, assessing her for a few seconds before sighing and rubbing her forehead in a long suffering way and Emma would be a little pissed off at that attitude normally because she is a responsible adult, wild animal incidents notwithstanding, but it’s just so weirdly attractive.

“Emma…”, she begins and Emma’s head snaps up, ready for a fight or a lecture or something. 

Regina’s just looking at her, a little oddly and Emma steps forward, says “Please don’t make me tell you anymore.”

Regina pauses, then says, “Have you had those cuts looked at?”

She shrugs, “I’ve definitely had my rabies jabs and stuff so I figured it would be alright. I just wanted to get home.”

She pauses a little bit at her choice in words but Regina doesn’t blink, just pushes her lightly down on the bed until she sitting.

“Stay there.”, she says authoritatively, “And take your shirt off.”

“What?”, Emma squeaks and Regina just gives her a looks. The don’t be an idiot look. She knows that one well. So she drops her cardigan and peels off her tank and turns her face to her door.

Regina disappears into the bathroom and returns with a small green pouch and some cotton pads. She climbs delicately onto the bed and sits behind Emma, her breath just brushing her shoulder. She shudders a little and then Regina brushes her fingers over the cuts, inspecting them closely and all Emma can do it sit, very, very still. 

“They’re clean cuts and there’s not too much dirt in them so I think a hospital trip in unnecessary for now. So long as they’re not already infected.”

Even with her back turned to her, Emma can feel the baleful glare Regina gives her before she’s back rummaging in the pouch. The next thing she feels is the press of a cotton pad and a sharp stinging in one of the deeper cuts. A curse slips from her mouth and Regina’s breathe puffs out against her skin as she mutters under her breath.

“What was that?”, Emma says as the stinging migrates to a different scratch.

“I said, for the Saviour and a trained police professional, you’re a little bit of a baby.”, comes the very neutral reply.

Emma huffs but doesn’t reply, follows the warm fingers on her back and stinging sensation that fades into a hot, clean, burn after a few seconds. The work is slow, but methodically and Emma can feel herself relaxing, finally. It’s warm in here, an occasional waft of dinner floating up the stairs and Regina’s steady hands and soft breathing on her back lulling her a little. Finally, Regina’s hands retreat and a soft, loose shirt is placed on her lap. She hears the zip of the first aid kit and Regina stops her as she moves to put the shirt on, examining her back one last time. Regina makes a noise of approval and the next thing Emma knows is a soft brush on lips on her shoulder. 

“Be more careful next time”, Regina says soft, lips still close enough to brush her skin and all Emma can do is swallow heavily and nod, shrugging the shirt on quickly as the warmth at her back disappears and she hears footsteps heading for the bathroom. 

She stands and stretches and then Regina is back, opening the door and gesturing for her to leave the room, “If the dinner meat is dry, it’s your fault.”

Emma rolls her eyes and walks from the room, Regina following her down the hallway and to the stairs. Just before they reach the kitchen, Emma turns, frowns and says, “How come you didn’t just use magic.”

She expects to get a sharp reply, or a snarky one something along the lines of magic being no substitute for proper medical care and but Regina just pauses, their eyes meeting, and she sounds a little confused when she says, “I forgot.”

Emma nods and gives her a soft smile and then they’re in the kitchen and Henry’s there, stirring something on the stove and rolling his eyes at her as she immediately goes to dips her finger in the pot and Regina slaps her hand away.

-

“Thanks for dinner.”

They’re standing just inside the hallway now, the front door open but neither of them moving to leave.

“You’re quite welcome.”, Regina says, oddly formal despite the languid way she’s half leaning against the doorframe, her eyes soft and her shirt untucked. The light is low and the way shadows move over her make her look almost liquid, shifting in the soft light as her eyes flicker over Emma’s face. Whatever this thing is between them it’s not something Emma likes to name, not something either of them like to name. Like to acknowledge it, to name it would break it. Naming, she knows, is a powerful thing in magic and to draw attention to something this fragile, this uncertain would be tempting fate.

Emma shuffles on her feet a little bit, “And thanks for, y’know. Fixing me up.”

“Don’t mention it.”, comes the cool reply.

It’s silent for a few seconds before Emma blurts out, “I’m sorry” and goes exceedingly red, avoiding Regina’s eyes.

Regina just sighs and steps towards her, brushes some hair out of her face and smirks, “I can’t believe you tried to tell me you were having an affair.”

Emma goes redder, impossibly red and makes a choked noise, “I didn’t know what to say!”

“That much is quite clear.”

Emma rolls her eyes at her and Regina just smirks again, wider this time. It’s almost predatory when she says, “It’s interesting though.”

“What is?”, 

“That you told me you were having an affair. Wouldn’t that mean…”

Emma bits her lip, looks away and then back at her, “Oh. Yeah, I guess.”

Regina just hums in response and looks out of the door, opens her mouth to speak just as Emma says, “I should go.”

“Oh. Of course. Yes.”

Emma shrugs on her jacket slowly as Regina watches. Watches her carefully whilst Emma’s considering what she could do to prolong her stay. Whatever this thing is between them, whenever Emma leaves, walks out of the door and down the road towards her own quiet apartment or her parents there’s a tightness in the chest, something that pulls taunt and only strains and strains the further she walks.

She scuffles her feet, “Unless you think those cuts need looking at again?”

Regina smiles a little, “We wouldn’t want them to get infected.”

Emma smiles back and Regina starts to walk back into the house.

“Shut the door, Emma”, she says, over her shoulder, pausing at the bottom of the stairs.

Emma does so quickly and follows her up the stairs. She pauses outside the guest room, somewhere she has stayed less and less often. Regina just quirks an eyebrow at her and she follows her to the master bedroom, idling at the door until Regina hands her some pyjamas and she slips into them. She sits on the end of the bed, watching as Regina goes through her nightly routine, the expensive creams and slow, ritualistic application. 

The slow glide on her hands against each other, over her arms and up her neck, small round upward strokes on her face. Emma barely contains herself and manages to stand up, walk to her on unsteady legs. Regina only turns when Emma places a hand on the small of her back and the only thing she can do in that moment is lean forwards and kiss her, one hand sliding up her neck to cup her cheek.

Regina kisses back after a second, one hand sliding down to Emma’s hip and the other toying with the collar on her pyjamas. It’s slow, languorous and Emma can only feel what’s under her hands, against her lips. The hand on Regina’s back slips under her shirt and brushes the skin there, brushes against the small, downy hairs and feels Regina shiver under her hand, press closer to her. 

Regina pulls away and rests her forehead against Emma’s, breathing heavily against her cheek, her eyes heavy lidded and dark. She kisses the corner of Emma’s mouth, leans back and smirks and she rubs something cold into Emma’s cheek. She looks at her questioningly as she does so.

“Face cream”, she says and rubs her thumb slowly over her cheek again, Emma leaning into her hand. She kisses her again, carefully, slowly, her teeth nipping at Emma’s bottom lip.

“Come to bed.”, she whispers against Emma’s skin and she’s only to happy to obey.

—

Even with the lamps on, burning softly in the half-light, Regina is the most brilliant thing in the room, long expanses of skin drawing the light, glowing. Emma half expects her hands to come away glittering at having touched something so luminous.

It’s been too long (not long at all) since she was last here, curled around her, sweat cooling and hair stuck to her back of her neck. Too long, because she had forgotten the way Regina looked up at her, the sounds that stick in her throat before the burst out. Soft skin and soft sheets and the lazy way that she flicks out her wrist to look the door. The way Regina can draw everything out of her with a few well placed fingers.

She forgets to soundproof the room and by the time they remember it’s too late, they’re too far gone, magic is so far beyond them that all Emma can do is bury her face in Regina’s neck and hope Henry is sleeping soundly. It’s a vicious circle, Emma’s mouth pressed up below Regina’s ear only spurring her on and making them both louder. At a creak in the hallway, the both freeze, eyes wide and when it passes, when it’s just an old house making old noise, Regina’s nose crinkles and she laughs and Emma does too, like it’s the easier thing in the world.

The windows rattling ever so slightly in the wind are the only noises now, besides their soft breathing and the occasional brush of hands over the sheets. Emma is awake, and despite her slow breathing, Regina is too. They’re both waiting for her to leave. Or not leave. She’s done this before, climbed into her bed and slunk out just before the sun is up. She doesn’t want to, never wants to leave and that’s mostly why she does. Any more is pushing her luck. She’ll take the snatched, quiet moments, the unspoken and the uncertain if it means she still gets them; if it means she still can curl around her in the dark and pretend it’s not something they might lose.

After everything, she wishes she could be better, that this ending, finally, might be one to last. All previous evidence proves that their lives move in stages, choreographed to move through beginning and trusting and growing and then ending bitterly, in one way or another. They always restart, always rise from the ruins, always have Henry as their constant, because despite all of the near misses his is safe, now, nearly. 

There is always loss that does not end them though they carry with them anyway. She wants to stay and have a home, one that is spoken of and won’t crumble for being looked at but she’ll settle, for now, forever if she needs to because it’s enough, or almost is.

She has the essentials, and can live without the rest. She has her parents, her son, her son’s other mother who greets her in public with the softest eyes, regardless of who’s watching and takes her hand under the table and it’s not shame that keeps them there, on the edge, teetering. Fear, maybe, but not shame.

Regina stirs in her arms and turns to her, her voice rasping a little, “You’re thinking rather loudly”

“Yeah.”, she says and tightens her arms

“About us?”

Regina starts to sit up and Emma lets her go, follows her up, tiredly says “What else.”

The window is open a crack, a compromise between them. It’s usually flung wide open, fresh air sailing through, shut only in the strongest of wind and heaviest of rain. Emma thinks being cold is a luxury. She can stand it, has slept on the pavement in the snow in thin layers and cardboard, has lived in sitting apartments with no central heating and not enough money for a space heater. She appreciates the breeze through the crack though, fresh enough to force them under the sheets, fresh enough to keep the room unstifled and fresh, the smell of night drifting through the windows with the occasional passing of lone cars. It’s peaceful, and she knows why Regina keeps it open. 

Regina nudges closer to her, picks up her hand and runs her thumb over the back of it. 

“I…”, she begins, speaking softly and Emma sucks in her breath, freezes. Regina pinches her hand and continues, “I want you near me.”

Emma relaxes a little, squeezes her hand, “I don’t want to leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave.”, Regina replies calmly, surely.

“Do you not think?”, Emma says and then chokes on it a little, looking down at their joined hands. 

“That we’re pushing our luck?”, Regina says, shuffling closer and running her free had down Emma’s cheek, “Maybe.”

Emma sniffles a little bit, “I just keep thinking that the second we do something right, even if it’s been here for years, if we acknowledge it, it’ll just fall apart in front of us.”

Regina is silent, drops her hand from her cheek. Emma goes to take it and Regina pulls it away. Emma makes another grab for it, holds it tightly and rasps out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Regina rotates her hand in her grip and smiles sadly, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Emma.”

“Should I leave?”, she asks quietly

Regina rolls her eyes, “Did I ask you to?”

“No, but–“, she says, looking up as Regina scoots closer to her.

Regina strokes her hair, tucks a strand of it behind her ear, “I think fate might let us have one night, Emma.”

“You think?”, Emma snorts and Regina swats her on the shoulder.

“We don’t know unless we try”, Regina says carefully, her eyes searching Emma’s face.

Emma nods slowly, “So, one day at a time?”

“I think that sounds like a plan”, Regina says, scooting back and pulling the covers back over her.

Emma waits for a second and then follows her, reaching for her and brushing her lips on the nape of her neck. Regina makes an approving noise and arches back into her a little, “Go to sleep, Emma. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

—

When Emma wakes up, she’s a little disorientated and Regina isn’t there. But her robe is missing from the back of the door and she can hear voices downstairs, one bright and high pitched and the other one lower and gentle. The smell of coffee is wafting upstairs and she smiles as it mingles with the smell of wet earth and leaves drifting in the window. It must have rained overnight. She rolls out of bed and walks downstairs, leaning against the kitchen doorway as neither of it’s occupants have noticed her yet. 

Henry is hunched over the stove, Regina instructing him occasionally, her fingers tapping on the side of her coffee cup. The back door is open, a fresh breeze coming in and the sun falls gently through the windows, lighting up the back of their heads, haloing the flyaway hairs and overnight dishevelment. A single glowing moment as Regina absentmindedly lifts her hand to her lips and to bite something on her thumb nail when she notices Emma.

She smiles slowly, but it grows broader and broader and she pours Emma a cup of coffee and hands it to her, their fingers brushing, “Good morning."

Henry turns around too and wrinkles his nose at her, “The dead awaken.”

Emma faux scowls at him and walks over to try to mock his pancakes, but they’re too perfect to find anything even mildly wrong with them. It’s fucking typical. She tells him so, toning down her language and Regina pinches her hip regardless, making her yelp and narrow her eyes and wonder if she really can read her mind.

It’s the perfect sunday morning and they eat outside on the back porch because it’s one of their last chances before it gets too cold, or so Henry tells them both. They squeeze all three of them onto the long seat, knocking elbows and narrowly avoiding spilling syrup. Emma does spill her syrup, and is content that she’s gotten away with it with no-one seeing her until she catches Regina eyeballing her over the top of Henry’s head. Shit. 

Still, it’s a perfect morning, and even once Henry dresses and leaves to get a lift with David to the stables and the tension thicken betweens them, there’s a certain stillness and Emma thinks that maybe it’s possibility. Still, naming things has power, and she knows this deep in her, knows what saviour and orphan have done to her, knows what mother and daughter have made her do, knows what queen means for Regina and prays that author does not do the same to Henry. She knows outlaw and ex-con and the weight of each name on her, so she says nothing and clears up the kitchen as Regina dresses. 

So it’s a perfect sunday and she passes Regina going up the stairs and kisses her, just because she can, because it can be that easy, at least for today. Regina laughs a little and tells her to get dressed instead of slobbing around the house in her wrongly-buttoned pyjamas. Emma takes some time to reminder just who’s fault her appearance is and Regina flushes and resorts to idle threats and pushing her up the stairs.

They flounder a little about what to with themselves, still a little uncertain. They sit in the kitchen for a little while, throwing looks at each other, Emma smiling sheepishly and Regina smirking when they catch each others eyes. It happens a lot, and just as Emma is contemplating pushing Regina up against the counter and wiping that smirk off her face, Henry phones, asking to be picked up. 

Regina sighs good naturally at whatever excuse he’s stumbled upon to dodge David’s lift home and stay at the stables longer and snags her car keys, gesturing for Emma to join her. The car ride up is mostly silent, they elbows bumping on the divider, and still Regina is glancing over at her every so often, like she doesn’t know what to say now that Emma is here, like she knows exactly what she wants to say but doesn’t say it because saying it will break the spell of this perfect day.

Perfect even when Emma jumps out of the car and lands straight in a pile of horse shit. Perfect even when Regina laughs and laughs but makes no move to help her. Perfect when Henry runs out to meet them and spends a long moment looking between one of his mothers fuming and frantically wiping her boots on the grass and the other one near doubled up in laughter. Little traitor that he is, he starts to cackle in a way directly attributable to Regina and Emma glares at them both, muttering under her breath.

Eventually, her boots are mostly dung free and Henry goes to fetch her a bucket of water to clean off the last of it. Regina manages to stop laughing, biting her tongue between her teeth and walking over to her, straightening her collar and murmuring, “Oh Emma, what are we going to do with you?”

Emma glares at her, but it’s getting harder and harder when the sun is still rising over Regina’s shoulder and she’s lit up, from the crown of her head to the heels of her boots. All this feeling swells inside her and she’s helpless for a moment, her mouth opening before she can help herself.

“Regina, I—“

She’s cut off by the press of a finger on her lips. Regina’s eyes are sparkling and her mouth is slightly opened and she knows what Emma was about to say. She replaces her finger with her lips for a brief moment, then pulls back, taking Emma’s hand.

“You don’t have to say it.”, she says, quietly, seriously, “Not today.”

Emma nods and squeezes her hand and between them they keep the day intact, whole and softly lit, even as Henry rushes back towards them and dumps an icy bucket of water on top of Emma’s not so waterproof boots.


End file.
